Can't Get There from Here
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About this ebook
She lives with a tribe of homeless teens -- runaways and throwaways, kids who have no place to go other than the cold city streets, and no family except for one another. Abused, abandoned, and forgotten, they struggle against the cold, hunger, and constant danger.
With the frigid winds of January comes a new girl: Tears, a twelve-year-old whose mother doesn't believe her stepfather abuses her. As the other kids start to disappear -- victims of violence, addiction, and exposure -- Maybe tries to help Tears get off the streets...if it's not already too late.
Todd Strasser, author of the powerful and disturbing Give a Boy a Gun, again focuses on an important social issue as he tells a thought-provoking, heart-wrenching story of young lives lost to the streets, and of a society that has forgotten how to care.
Todd Strasser
Todd Strasser has written many critically acclaimed novels for adults, teenagers, and children, including the award-winning Can’t Get There from Here, Give a Boy a Gun, Boot Camp, If I Grow Up, Famous, and How I Created My Perfect Prom Date, which became the Fox feature film Drive Me Crazy. Todd lives in a suburb of New York and speaks frequently at schools. Visit him at ToddStrasser.com.
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Reviews for Can't Get There from Here
9 ratings5 reviews
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5this is hands down the greatest book I have ever read, and remains the one of the only books I've ever finished said from Harry Potter.
its so insightful and honest, I teared up at some parts. - Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Can’t Get There from Here by Todd Strasser has composed a riveting realistic fiction book aimed at teenagers regarding teen homelessness and the obstacles they endure within that lifestyle. The story is narrated through a 15 year old girl named Maybe who has run away from her abusive mother. Maybe finds herself in New York City and joins a tribe of homeless teenagers known as the “Asphalt Tribe”. The names of the members all go by street aliases: Maggot, Jewel (a male prostitute), Rainbow, 2Moro ( a beautiful girl who has HIV), Tears (the youngest and newest member) and Maybe. Most of these youth have run away from abusive homes, while others suffer from mental or other health related problems. Together the band struggles to survive the gritty enviroment and the harsh winter of New York. The author’s description of their day-to-day struggles of scavenging for food, staying warm, declining health, filthy and poor sleeping conditions really disturbs the reader. Yet it doesn’t stop there, the pressures of prostitution and drug abuse is prevalent throughout the story as are the numerous occurrences of deaths. Along the journey Maybe meets Anthony, a librarian who offers his assistance by providing her with clothing and warmth and persuades her to attend a youth home. With Maybe feeling lonely and abandoned as her “Asphalt tribe” decreases in numbers due to deaths, she too sees her future to be short and decides that she must make a life-changing decision. It’s important to note that the author reminds the readers of the recurring mentality amongst the homeless youth that they feel they’re not noticed, nameless and that nobody cares of their existence.Upon reading this novel, it really changed my views on homeless people and the tragedies that lead such individuals to their downfall. Todd Strasser has a great way of captivating young readers by making them feel connected to the characters by understanding the reality of street life. I would recommend this novel to junior high and high school readers.
- Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The novel, Can't Get There From Here by Todd Strasser emcompasses the theme of hope and inner strength. In the begining, Maybe, tells of the struggles and hardship of being a teen living on the streets. She introduces her "family", the other teens who live with her in the tunnel in New York City. Some struggles would be not enough food or clean clothes. Through the middle she perserveres with the slow loss of the her friends who lived on the street due to numerous reasons. In the end, she finally finds a safe home to live in which was offered to her by her friend, a libraian who helped her throughout the book and he takes on the role of her new guardian before the streets would have been her unmarked grave.
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5A group of homeless teens band together to help each other survive on the streets of New York. The narrator, Maybe, left her abusive mother and feels that the street--dirty , cold, and brutal as it is--is the only place for a girl like her, a girl no one loves. Maggot says that living on the streets is the only way to maintain your freedom. Country Club is the first of the group to leave. He dies of liver failure at 22. OG has a constant, hacking cough, but refuses to seek medical attention. He adopts an abandoned dog (Pest)after Country Club's death. 2Moro is beautiful and HIV-positive. Prostitution helps her survive, but for how long? Jewel is a male prostitute who dresses up as a woman and goes clubbing with 2Moro. Rainbow, Maybe's closest friend, does drugs to keep herself numb. Tears is only 12 and is the newest member of the group. As bad as life on the streets can be, they all agree that it is better than the lives they left behind. As Maybe watches her friends disappear one by one, she wonders if there might be another life for her.
- Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Todd Strasser doesn't miss a detail in this compelling story about a group of runaway and homeless teens. These kids are living a tough life and have no where to turn, but they all have some level of hope. Their friendships are realistic in a dark and dangerous world. Hope does resonant throughout the book, and the reader will find herself on the edge of her seat, waiting to see how all these kids' lives turn out.
Book preview
Can't Get There from Here - Todd Strasser
ONE
NEW YEAR’S EVE
Maggot said we should go up to Times Square to watch the ball drop and pick some pockets, but we never got around to it. Instead we hung out in front of the Good Life Deli like we always did. Maggot, Rainbow, 2Moro, and me. A cold mist drifted out of the dark, the little droplets sparkling in the streetlights. Maggot and me sat under the awning of the newspaper stand on the corner. The damp matted down our hair. Black puddles dotted the street and steam rose like ghosts from the manhole covers. Rainbow sat crosslegged against the wall, loose strands of blond hair falling out of a blue wool cap, her head nodding almost down to her lap. 2Moro leaned against the streetlight with her arms crossed, not saying anything to anyone, just waiting for someone to say something to her.
It was one of those nights when there wasn’t much traffic on the streets of New York. Most of the New Year’s partiers were done with their stupid celebrations and back in the four-walled cells they called apartments. Prisoners of the system, Maggot said. Now, only the newspaper delivery trucks and taxis passed, their tires making squishy sounds on the wet, black pavement. Out here in the cold where we weren’t walled in, we were free to go where we pleased.
Guess the cops have the night off,
Maggot said, his brown dreadlocks stringy from the mist; his breath a small cloud of fog.
The rest of the world, too,
muttered 2Moro. She was wearing a red-and-orange patchwork jacket, a tight black skirt, and high black boots. Her short dyed red hair was matted down on her forehead like a cap. The piercings in her ears and eyebrow and nose glinted in the streetlight. Tattooed around her neck was a circle of black barbed wire.
I sipped cold coffee from a paper cup. At night we drank coffee to stay awake. It was safer to sleep during the day.
A man and a woman came around the corner wearing raincoats and sharing a red umbrella. They slowed down when they saw us. The woman slid her arm through the man’s and said something in his ear. Probably wanted him to turn around and go another way. But the man shook his head. Taking stiff strides, they walked toward us.
When they got near, the woman wrinkled her nose like something smelled bad.
Have fun tonight?
Maggot asked, kind of menacing.
The couple broke stride. Yes, we did,
the man answered.
No work tomorrow, huh?
Maggot said. Get to sleep in.
That’s right.
Day after that it’s back to the old nine-to-five grind,
Maggot said.
You could say that,
answered the man.
Happy New Year,
said 2Moro, not in a friendly way.
Same to you,
said the man. He and the woman hurried past. She kept glancing over her shoulder at us until they reached the next corner.
Robots,
Maggot said. Just following the rules. Work till they die. Then new robots replace them.
Check this.
2Moro tilted her head down the sidewalk. A man came toward us, unsteady, dragging the toes of his shoes. The shoulders of his suit were dark with water and his white shirt collar was open, a blue-and-red tie hanging like an upside down noose. His face was clean-shaven, and even though his wet hair fell flat on his forehead, you could see that it had been recently trimmed.
We watched as he stumbled along, not yet aware of us. When he passed under a streetlight, something gold glinted on his wrist and light reflected off his wet polished leather shoes.
Come to daddy,
Maggot whispered, cracking his knuckles.
From her seat against the wall Rainbow raised her head. Oh, Maggot, you’re so full of it. You never rolled a drunk in your life.
People do it all the time. How hard could it be?
He’s big,
I said.
The bigger they are, the harder they fall.
Maggot rose to his feet. He’ll never know what hit him.
Let’s do it,
said 2Moro. She crossed the sidewalk and joined Maggot in the shadow of the newsstand awning.
Rainbow pressed her hands against the ground and tried to push herself up. Come on, Maybe. Time to get outta here.
But she lost her grip and slid back down.
Try again.
I put my hands under the arms of her black leather jacket and helped her up. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the drunk guy a dozen yards away down the dark, wet sidewalk. He looked up, saw us, and stopped. I got Rainbow to her feet, turned her by the shoulders, and started to lead her away.
We were halfway down the block when the scuffle began. Maggot and 2Moro trying to wrestle the drunk down. Maggot pulling at the guy’s jacket from the front. 2Moro hitting him from behind. Only the drunk didn’t seem to get the idea. 2Moro and Maggot barely came up to his shoulders. He swung his arms and Maggot went down. Then he grabbed 2Moro and threw her so hard she disappeared between two parked cars. The drunk took a step, tripped over Maggot, and fell to his hands and knees. Maggot got up and jumped on his back. 2Moro came out from between the parked cars and started to kick the guy in the sides.
The guy yanked Maggot down to the sidewalk and straddled him. 2Moro was still kicking and hitting him, but the guy hardly seemed to notice. Pinned on his back under the drunk, Maggot flailed with open hands. The drunk slammed his fist into Maggot’s face. Down the block Rainbow and me heard the crunching sound and saw Maggot go limp on the sidewalk. The drunk grabbed 2Moro by the wrist. She tried to shake free, but he wouldn’t let go. He staggered to his feet and pulled his fist back like he was going to hit her next.
Hey, don’t!
I yelled and ran back toward them. I hated it when kids got hit. Got hit too many times myself. Not just with fists, neither.
Still holding 2Moro by the wrist, the drunk turned to look at me. I stopped a dozen feet away. Please don’t hurt her, Mister. Please?
They jumped me,
the guy said.
They’re just kids. They didn’t mean it.
Didn’t mean it? You crazy? They were kickin’ and hittin’ me. They wanted to rob me.
Maggot sat up on the sidewalk, hands covering his mouth and nose, dark red blood seeping out between his fingers. The drunk still had 2Moro by the wrist. She kept swinging, trying to hit him.
Let me go!
she screeched.
Let her go,
I said. She’s just a girl. Please?
You kiddin’ me? She’s twice as bad as him.
The drunk pointed at Maggot.
Just let her go,
I said. I promise she won’t hurt you.
I’m gonna kill this pig!
2Moro screamed, still clawing and scraping like a wild animal. The drunk twisted her arm tighter.
Ow!
2Moro yelped.
You better stop,
I told her, or he’s gonna hurt you bad.
2Moro stopped.
If I let go, you gonna go quietly?
the drunk asked.
Drop dead.
2Moro spit.
He yanked her arm up behind her back. 2Moro let out a squeal and went limp. Okay, okay,
she whimpered. The guy let go and 2Moro stumbled away, cradling her arm. The whole thing must have sobered the guy up, because he stood straighter and tightened the blue-and-red tie around his collar. He looked down at his suit. The knee was torn. Look what you kids did.
Sorry,
I said.
Sorry?
he repeated. Your friends jump me and you’re sorry?
They just wanted some money.
Then they should’ve asked.
He looked around. 2Moro was rubbing her sore arm. Maggot was sitting on the sidewalk, staring at the blood on his hands. Down the block Rainbow was leaning against another wall, her head and shoulders again dipping toward her waist.
Just a bunch of punks out to roll some drunks on New Year’s Eve,
the guy grumbled in disgust.
No kidding,
Maggot muttered.
Well, you picked the wrong drunk.
The guy started to walk away through the mist. He reached into his pocket and tossed out a handful of loose change. As the coins clattered onto the sidewalk, he said, Happy New Year.
TWO
Alexander Mittelson, aka Country Club. Born in Shaker Heights, Ohio. Father, a lawyer, and mother, a law professor at Case Western Reserve Law School. Divorced when Alexander was five. Two sisters, one married and living in Cleveland, the other in Los Angeles. Age 8, Alexander was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. School performance dropped despite medication and extra academic support. Age 14, diagnosis of depression added. Often irritable, emotionally labile, and co-morbid. Frequent school tardiness and absences. Self-medication with drugs and alcohol. Age 16, stopped attending school. Age 17, ran away from home. Itinerant derelict. Frequent arrests for vagrancy, loitering, petty larceny, public intoxication. Last known address, New York City. Dead at the age of 22. Cause of death: liver failure due to chronic alcohol poisoning.
Country Club was lying in Piss Alley next to a Christmas tree someone had thrown out a window of the apartment building next door. The Christmas tree was on its side; Country Club lay on his back. His eyes were open. Glassy and dull. Like he was staring straight up at heaven. Sometimes on sunny days Country Club’s eyes looked green. But on this cold gloomy day his eyes were as gray as the clouds overhead.
Under a film of dirt Country Club’s skin was pasty and almost green. He had a wispy light brown beard, thin so you could see through it to his jaw and chin. On his left cheekbone was a long, crusty brown scab. On his right cheek was a small black tattoo of a spider’s web. His long, tangled brown hair was spread out on the ground, mixed in with the torn papers and candy wrappers and bent straws that littered the alley. Bits of paper and dirt and a single strand of silver Christmas tinsel clung to his beard. His arms were spread out. One hand turned up, the other turned down. His hips were twisted sideways, his legs bent at the knees like he was running.
But he wasn’t going nowhere.
Piss Alley smelled like pee because the restaurants and stores wouldn’t let us use their bathrooms. OG was on his knees beside Country Club, sobbing. The tears left light trails down his filthy cheeks. When street people cried, their tears were filmy with grime.
OG’s hair was long and dirty blond, dreadlocked, and he had a bushy blond beard. One of his earlobes was stretched to the size of a quarter and had a clear round plastic plug in it. He wore bars and rings in his eyebrows, nose, and lips. OG and Country Club were partners. They traveled all over together.
OG let out a gurgly, liquid cough. Put his hands on the ground to brace himself, then coughed and coughed while his thin body shook. Then spit out a mouthful of greenish phlegm.
Maggot, Tears, and me stood nearby, watching. My stomach growled and hurt from hunger.
He must’ve died during the night,
Maggot said. His nose and the left side of his mouth were swollen purple and blue where the drunk guy had punched him. His sweatshirt had a big reddish brown dried bloodstain on the front.
How?
Tears asked. The newest and youngest member of our family,
she had showed up a couple of weeks before.
Don’t know,
Maggot said. Doesn’t look like he was killed. I don’t see any blood or bruises.
Maggot talked different from most street kids. They would have said, don’t see no bruises.
Maggot said any.
Tears looked at me with big round brown eyes almost hidden by the straight black bangs that hung down her forehead. Ever seen a dead person before?
I didn’t know. Sometimes it was hard to remember. Yeah,
I said, even though I wasn’t sure.
"Ever touch a dead person before?" Maggot asked. I knew a dare when I heard one.
Have you?
I asked back.
Maggot stepped closer to the body. Squatted down and placed his hand on Country Club’s dirty forehead. Kept it there for a moment, then stood up and came back to us.
What was it like?
Tears practically gasped. When you first saw her, she looked like she was around my age. She had a shape—more of a shape than I did. But she acted young, and if you looked close it seemed like she was still growing. Like her eyes were too big for her round face. It gave her this always startled look. Like everything was a surprise.
It was weird,
Maggot answered. I mean, his skin’s cold to the touch. But that’s not the only thing. You have to see for yourself.
Tears looked at me with those big dark little kid eyes. Like she wanted to know if she should do it. Or if I would.
I went over and squatted next to the body. By